


Idioglossia

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-19
Updated: 2006-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They knew, Radek understood; they knew his fear and maybe shared it, but they were ready to go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idioglossia

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [Ciderpress](http://ciderpress.livejournal.com), the [Lady of Asheru](http://lady-of-asheru.livejournal.com), and [Queenofalostart](http://queenofalostart.livejournal.com).

_Here are no points of interest except the point of arrival_

Radek rarely went off-world, or even to the mainland. He didn't like climbing into the puddlejumpers, no matter who was piloting them; he didn't like flying over the ocean surrounding Atlantis; he didn't like shooting through the stargate. Carrying and even using a weapon was not unknown to Radek; he'd served in the military as a young man and everyone in Atlantis was required to practice weekly in the armory. He'd learnt some rudimentary field medicine. He trusted the military men assigned to Atlantis, and he trusted and respected Colonel Sheppard. He'd watched even Rodney grow into the task. But none of that meant he was happy to be sent off-world.

Major Lorne led Radek, followed by Ronon Dex and then a number of marines and airmen, winding through another forest on another nearly deserted world. Waiting for them in a village were Rodney, Sheppard, and Teyla; something had happened, Radek wasn't sure what, but Rodney wanted his help. Rodney didn't ask for help often. He was too vain for that, Radek knew, and so his need must be great to sacrifice his ego.

The sky was dark. When he'd first stepped through the stargate, Radek had thought it was going to rain, but he realized the clouds were actually billows of smoke hanging in the sky. Pale ash covered the ground and mounded on tree branches; occasionally, more sifted down, until his blue and grey jacket was smudged and smelt of fire. He'd started to ask Major Lorne what had burnt, but the major looked unusually somber, so Radek closed his mouth without speaking.

The scent of smoke and fire grew stronger, and then other smells teased Radek. He was afraid to imagine what had burnt. He'd refused to permit himself to wonder what he'd find at the end of this trail, but now, with smoke coiling into his lungs while ashes whitened his hair and smeared his glasses, his apprehension grew. He walked more slowly, until Ronon put his hand on Radek's shoulder. "Not far," Ronon said, but it couldn't be too far for Radek. He slowed to a stop.

"Major?" one of the marines behind them called out.

Lorne turned, hand tightening on his weapon. "Dr. Zelenka? You need to rest?"

Radek found he couldn't speak. The parched air had dried his throat, and his tongue felt swollen. His heart was racing.

Ronon handed him a canteen, unscrewing the cap before offering it to Radek. He swallowed compulsively. He heard the men stirring behind them, but Ronon looked calm, as if he had all the time in the world. Radek knew Rodney would yell at him for being so slow, but he wasn't sure he could take another step.

"Radek?" Lorne said softly.

"I am coming," he whispered, staring up at Ronon. Ash had caught in his dreadlocks, and for a moment Radek could imagine him as an old man with grey hair. Then Ronon shook like a big dog, tucked away the canteen, and gently turned Radek toward Lorne. They knew, Radek understood; they knew his fear and maybe shared it, but they were ready to go on. He shuddered in the hot dry air and walked forward. Lorne nodded approvingly, and Ronon kept his hand on his shoulder.

They crossed a clearing white with ash, and climbed the crest of a rise before returning into the forest and clambering down a steep hill. He saw Lorne exchange a look with Ronon, and then suddenly Radek smelled it. Sweet, foul, hot -- he gagged, staggering. Ronon caught him and held him. Lorne stood between them and the others. "Can't," he whispered to Ronon.

"They're all dead," Ronon said quietly. "No one is suffering anymore. They've been here and gone. No danger, no threat. No more pain."

Radek closed his eyes. He was covered in a cold sweat. He knew what he'd see at the end of this trail. How Rodney could do this time after time he couldn't understand. No wonder Rodney blustered and complained, demanding attention. He deserved that attention, Radek decided. Somehow Rodney had transformed himself into someone who could do this.

"You can do this," Ronon said into his ear. His deep voice and warm breath made Radek shiver again. "I'll be with you."

He took a deep breath through his mouth, trying not to smell anything. He had to go on. Rodney would never have asked unless he needed Radek's help. Radek had volunteered to come to Atlantis, and he was needed for this task. He gripped Ronon's hand on shoulder and started moving again. Lorne nodded at him, and his escort clustered even closer to him and Ronon as they continued down the trail.

Within minutes he could hear voices -- Rodney's raised as usual, Sheppard's deeper voice punctuating the pauses. Then he saw Teyla standing under a broken and burnt arch. The entrance to the little village, he thought. This must have been their main street. What had been houses on either side were now smoldering rubble, but the smell of burning wood was almost pleasant.

In the street, in awkward poses, still radiating heat -- Ronon jerked Radek away. "Don't look," he growled, and Radek obeyed. He stared at his boots, crunching over the damaged cobblestones, and let Ronon steer him. His stomach lurched, and he swallowed convulsively, then spit. He was going to vomit, he knew it, in front of Rodney and the marines. But Ronon's hands on him tightened, drawing his attention away from the ruins.

"Doctor," Teyla greeted him, but for once he didn't raise his head to smile at her. He nodded, still staring at his boots. They were streaked with ashes and a stone had got caught in the tread of his left boot. He welcomed the discomfort. When he was with Rodney, he'd dig it out. Until then, he'd let Ronon push him along.

They walked silently through the streets, turning off the main street down a side one, narrower, even more ruined, the stones beneath his feet still hot. Ahead of him, Teyla and Lorne's boots led the way; behind him, he could hear Lorne's men. But almost all his attention was focused on Ronon holding him near, guiding him carefully through the horror. Ronon was younger than he; Radek should be stronger. But the smell -- the knowledge of what they were passing through -- he couldn't.

At last they reached Rodney and Sheppard. Both were kneeling, their trousers filthy, peering into the remains of some kind of vehicle -- a dart, Radek thought, but badly damaged. "Your turn," Rodney said sourly, standing up. "Shit, my knees."

Sheppard looked at Radek, his face unreadable in the smoky air. "Can you get it working?" he asked.

"What is it you want it to do?"

Ronon led Radek to the wreck, helping him down, removing his pack so Radek could extract his laptop and the mass of cables he carried. He crouched next to Radek. "Keep your eyes on the console," he whispered. He left one hand on Radek's shoulder. Radek shivered again, and wiped his face and nose.

"Colonel? What is it you want?" Radek asked again. He looked up to find Sheppard studying him. He dropped his eyes, obeying Ronon and keeping his eyes on the mechanical mess. Something he could fix. Maybe.

"Rodney thinks it's some kind of anti-gravity device."

"Rodney watches too much bad science fiction."

"Hey! Only because Sheppard does."

Sheppard's eyes flickered up to Rodney, and Radek thought his face softened minusculely.

"Why?" Radek interrupted him.

"Look at this." Rodney bent over Radek's shoulder, pointing. "And this."

"I see, yes. Maybe." He sighed. "Zero-point energy in the Pegasus Galaxy. We should publish, Rodney. Win many prizes."

"A vibration that cannot be removed," Sheppard murmured.

Radek looked at him sharply, but his face was neutral again, eyes hooded. "It may produce a cavity-resonance frequency," Radek continued. He lay on his stomach, twisting his head to see under it. "Why do Wraith need this? They have that beam." No one answered. No one knew. Even Rodney was quiet while Radek worked, untwisting cables, popping bolts free. He didn't want to spend a moment more on this horrible world than he had to. In twenty minutes the console was portable, and he stood back so the marines could manhandle it back to the gate.

This time, Ronon put his arm around Radek, who turned his head so he could smell only Ronon and see only Ronon's shirt. Behind him, he heard Rodney and Sheppard talking, their voices rising and falling in a familiar pattern. They bicker like fishwives, Radek thought, and despite his surroundings, the thought made him smile. He understood that this was how they protected each other. Ahead of him, the marines and the airmen struggled with the cannibalized console.

He looked up at Ronon, at his solemn face. They eyes met and Radek almost stumbled, but Ronon caught him again, keeping him safe. Radek had seen a lot during his time in the military, but not, he knew, as much as Ronon had. The Pegasus Galaxy was hard on its children.

When they'd returned to Atlantis, Radek went to his quarters to shower. He wanted the stink of that desolated world out of his nose and off his body. Standing beneath the steaming shower, he shuddered again at the memory. The console better be worth what he'd gone through.

How could Rodney do this day after day? he wondered. Radek had trouble reconciling the Rodney he knew in the labs with the Rodney who hiked through streets heaped with the dead and injured, who clambered into underground chambers to rescue his teammates, who argued with villains and madmen. He shook his head, remembering Rodney's uncharacteristic silence on that world, the looks he'd exchanged with Colonel Sheppard.

Radek was still drying his hair when someone knocked softly on his door, almost a scratch. Opening it, he found Ronon there, looking younger than usual. He had also showered and changed, Radek saw. He stood back, letting Ronon in and the door slide shut. Not many had come to Radek's quarters during all his time in Atlantis. Ronon stood motionless in the middle of the room, looking at Radek.

"Your name," Ronon said.

"Radek."

"I looked it up. It means _glad_ in your language." Radek nodded. "M2R-635."

For a moment, Radek seriously considered throwing the kind of fit Rodney enjoyed so much, but instead he took a deep breath. Ronon smelled clean and almost sweet. "Where we were today? Yes?"

"You were brave."

"No, I was not," Radek said, and turned his back on Ronon, scrubbing at his hair with the towel. He walked into the bathroom and hung it up, deliberately not looking into the mirror. Ronon came to the door and hovered, his gaze heavy on Radek. "You are brave," Radek finally said, forcing himself to look at Ronon. "So young, and so brave."

Ronon scrutinized him. After a long moment, he said, "My name has a meaning, too. It was my mother's brother's second name, and it means _respite_."

"Glad respite," Radek murmured. "You -- today, you knew. How I felt."

"We all feel that way. McKay sure does."

Radek smiled weakly.

"Me, too," Ronon added.

"But you go on."

"No choice. Help when you can, learn when you can't."

Radek nodded. That made sense. Here in Atlantis, in his quiet quarters, it didn't seem as terrible. Out there, he'd felt exposed and vulnerable. He'd wanted to run away. Only pride had kept him walking down that terrible path. He closed his eyes.

Warm hands cupped his face. "Radek," Ronon whispered. "Be glad for me."

Radek watched as Ronon bent toward him. He lifted his face, letting Ronon's hands guide him again until their lips touched. He hesitated, letting this be a kiss between friends, but he didn't want that. He didn't want just that. He took a deep breath, put his hands on Ronon's shoulders and pulled himself up, leaning against Ronon's long body. Radek gasped at the sensation of Ronon's power and heat, and kissed him harder, opening his lips, licking inside Ronon's mouth, sucking on his tongue. His heart raced and he trembled. Ronon backed up, pulling Radek with him, leading him toward his bed, laying him back, his hands gentle on Radek's body. "Say yes," Ronon whispered, kissing his ear, nuzzling his throat. "Say yes."

"Yes," Radek told him, stroking Ronon's face, pushing back his thick, heavy hair. He wriggled on the bed until he was comfortable, and then pulled Ronon on top of him. He could feel Ronon's erection against his stomach and pushed against it, making Ronon groan. "Oh, yes," he said.

Later, he thought: this is how we know we live. This is how we burn. This is how we just keep going, no matter the pain. Ronon raised his head, his eyes heavy with sleep. "Shh," Radek said. "I will take care of you."

Ronon smiled, and rested his head on Radek's shoulder, sighing as he closed his eyes again.

Radek could do this.

* * *

 _If doubt exists, it is dispelled by the wind_

Ronon was a quiet man, and observant. In the mess hall, in the armory, almost everywhere in Atlantis, he overheard snippets of cryptic conversations. He learned that most people believed Sheppard and McKay were fucking. Some thought McKay and Zelenka. Some thought Sheppard had been fucking Ford, and that's why he was so determined to find him. A few speculated about McKay and Beckett, but that ended after Cadman, even though everyone knew McKay had kissed Beckett. Ronon thought it strange that hard evidence proved a negative, but by then he'd come to terms with how different these people were.

He occasionally thought about talking to Teyla about all this, but she was almost as silent as Ronon, and he was at times uncomfortable around her. She reminded him of his father's sister, a stern woman who'd never hesitated to chastise Ronon for failing to apply himself. Teyla was, as McKay said behind her back, hot, but Ronon respected her strength and authority too much to risk offending her.

Ronon hadn't noticed Radek at first. McKay was so loud and anxious and entertaining that the other scientists seemed faded, like candles on a sunny day. But as he began to sort out the population in Atlantis, he noticed that one of the few people McKay didn't insult with each breath was the small pale man with messy hair and smudged glasses.

Radek didn't yell back at Rodney, the way some people did, but he didn't cry, either. He was cool and level-headed, qualities Ronon valued. He knew his strengths and he knew his weaknesses. Ronon grew to like McKay because he regularly forced himself to do things that terrified him; he didn't really know his boundaries, he only thought he did. But Radek seemed to really understand himself; more than that, he accepted himself. Ronon approved.

When McKay's jumper had crashed into the ocean, Ronon had heard that Radek stepped into his place in Atlantis. That he'd coordinated the search efforts, and eventually joined Sheppard in the rescue, even though he'd been open about his fear.

McKay had been in the infirmary for over a day after that, so Ronon had gone to see him, smuggling in sweet cakes from the mess hall and several containers of the jell-o that he and McKay had bonded over. When he arrived, Radek was already there. Ronon stood at a distance and watched them; was rumor right? Were they fucking? They didn't touch each other; Radek talked over McKay; McKay never shut up. They were both deeply themselves: alien yet familiar.

Then McKay saw Ronon, his eyes widening at the cargo he carried, and he waved Ronon over. "I like your priorities," he told him.

"Say 'thank you,' Rodney," Radek said.

"Yes, yes, thank you. Why didn't you bring me anything, Radek?"

"I bring you to Atlantis; this is not enough?"

McKay pursed his mouth and looked away, silent for a moment. Ronon piled the food on a rolling tray while McKay watched greedily and Radek smiled at him. He nodded at both men and left. "Give me a cookie, Radek," he heard McKay say. "No, you can have _one_ , hey, _one_ ; Ronon brought them for _me._ "

After that, Ronon noticed Radek more often. He thought Radek spoke up more as time went on. He liked Radek's hair, and wondered if it would knot into dreads. He liked the little glasses that Radek had to keep polishing and pushing up his nose. He liked Radek's dimples when he smiled at Ronon across a conference table or when passing in a corridor. He liked how he talked best of all, especially when he fell into his family language.

Weir still shied at Ronon's approach but she also answered his questions, sometimes more thoroughly than he needed. "It's Czech," she explained once she'd settled back to her dinner in the mess hall where he'd found her. He silently handed her the slice of bread that she'd sent flying. "Thank you. Yes, Dr. Zelenka was born in, well, I don't suppose that matters to you. But he speaks several languages, including his birth language."

"Czech."

"Yes. It's a member of the Indo-European family of languages, the Slavic branch. It has a complex morphology, but a simpler syntax." He stared at her. He was pretty sure that he knew what syntax was, but he thought morphology had to do with biology. More translation problems, not uncommon when he tried to carry on any kind of in-depth conversation with the people of Atlantis. Weir sighed. "Well, let's just do this. If you want to pronounce his name correctly, place the emphasis on the first syllable: _Ze_ -len-ka. Or if you call him Radek, when you speak directly to him, say _Ra_ -dku."

"Radku," he repeated carefully, and she nodded.

"He will like that, I think." Ronon stood, but she put her out hand, not touching him, but stopping him just the same. "Ask him if he is _svobodný_ ," she said, nodding. "I think that's what you're asking me."

" _Svobodný_ ," he said. " _Svobodný_." He left, repeating the word silently to himself. He didn't need to know what it meant. That it was in Radek's own language was enough. He would either like it, or not, and that was out of Ronon's control.

The next day Ronon's team left for M2R-635, a world not simply culled but burnt to the ground. Ronon had heard McKay talk about salting the earth, and Sheppard respond by talking about scorched earth policies. Though the terms were unfamiliar -- who would waste salt that way? -- Ronon understood the significance. Whatever this world had done to the Wraith, they would no more. Infants and the elderly were of little use to the Wraith. No doubt they had been killed in front of their families, before the families had been transported into the darts. The air still stank of burning flesh when they found what had been, according to Teyla, the suburbs of a great city.

"A great nothing," McKay said sourly. He tied a cloth over his face, glaring at Sheppard.

"I didn't say anything," Sheppard said mildly. Ronon raised his eyebrows and looked at Teyla, who gave him a small smile. He was getting used to how Sheppard and McKay worked together, but sometimes he wished they'd learn to be quiet.

Maybe it had been a great city, but now it was rubble, smoking and stinking. Ronon thought of the ruins of Sateda. He'd been born in the country but raised in a city on a broad river, a city known for its music and restaurants. He wondered what this city had been known for.

He hadn't been pleased to return to the stargate and fetch Radek to the world; he knew Radek disliked going off-world, and would hate this place. But he'd watch over him and be sure nothing happened to him. Ronon was good at watching over others, and in his years of running, he'd learned how to take care of himself. He'd make sure he took good care of Radek.

Seeing him off-world, Ronon realized again how different Radek was from Rodney. Radek paled when Weir had called him to the Operations Center, but in a few minutes the stargate re-engaged and Lorne and then Radek stepped out of the wormhole.

"How bad is it?" Lorne asked Ronon.

"Bad," he said, looking at Radek, who swallowed and stood a bit straighter. Ronon adjusted the straps of Radek's pack so they wouldn't dig into his shoulders so deeply. When he turned, Lorne was watching them thoughtfully.

"Let's move out," he said. Ronon stood to one side and waited for Radek to follow. They stared at each other before Radek dropped his gaze and began to walk. Ronon stayed right behind him. He stayed right behind all that day, and after they'd returned to Atlantis, he came to Radek.

"Radku," he said softly, grateful they were off that smoldering world, that they were safe in Atlantis, that they were hidden in Radek's quarters. "Be glad." He hesitated, and then said, "For me."

* * *

 _As if this were a place just for the leaving_

Rodney had never been good with languages. He'd been forced to study French in school and retained a few set phrases, and had picked up a few Russian words while in Siberia. More recently, he'd learned _neoxiduj tu!_ , which he was pretty sure meant _shut up!_ , but he would never ask Radek to translate his irritable muttering. Mostly Rodney spoke English and math, and now Ancient. It was why he liked Sheppard as much as he did; they spoke the same languages. It made it easy to be around him, unlike most people, who either made Rodney nervous or, more commonly, angry. Morons, most people, and ignorant of that basic fact about themselves.

Rodney did admit to himself there were languages other than French that he didn't understand. Not language-languages, like Spanish or Mandarin or Zuberera, but a language of the body. What the lift of a shoulder could mean, the tilt of a chin, the raising of an eyebrow.

Or the language of the eye -- glances from the corner of the eye, from beneath a lowered lid. From across a conference table, or passing silently in a corridor. Another language he was clumsy in, though some of his time in Atlantis was first spent learning these languages existed, and then trying to decode them.

Communication among non-mathematicians was so fraught, he often thought, trying to formulate an email to his staff that wouldn't result in a disruption of their work and his time. _a 2 \+ b2 = c2_ was so straightforward. _l(D) - l(K - D) = deg(D) - g + 1_ was easier than explaining what they'd found on M2R-635. And _(f*g)(a, b)=\sum_{a\leq x\leq b}f(a, x)g(x, b)_ was by far easier than trying to understand the friends he'd made in Atlantis.

He watched Radek these days, keeping his head down so he could peer over the top of his laptop. Radek smiled more, Rodney was sure. As long as Radek's work didn't suffer, Rodney told himself, he didn't care what else he did. But in fact he watched, concerned. Ronon was a predator, a wild animal who'd spent long enough on his own in dangerous enough circumstances to lose what civility he'd ever had. Radek was a sophisticated and cultured man; he was descended, Rodney knew, from a seventeenth-century composer. He knew as much about music as Rodney did, though he had never admitted to playing an instrument. What could Radek see in Ronon? Rodney wondered. What could Ronon see in Radek?

"What the hell are you up to?" Sheppard said into his ear, startling Rodney.

"Colonel, there is no need to practice stealth tactics in my lab," Rodney scolded him, a little embarrassed to be caught staring at Radek.

"Leave them alone."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sheppard leaned into Rodney's space, radiating heat. He smiled secretively. "You know what I mean. Leave. Them. Alone."

Rodney straightened, but discovered he couldn't dredge up the appropriate level of irritability. He sighed, and let Sheppard steer him out of the lab, his hand hot on the small of Rodney's back. He didn't pause in the corridor, though, but herded Rodney toward a balcony overlooking the southwestern pylon. Rodney liked it there. A breeze flowed up from the ocean, carrying the scent of the water, yet the balcony itself was protected even on cloudy days.

They stood silently, leaning against the railing, watching the sunlight glint off the whitecaps far below them. After a while, Sheppard nudged Rodney's elbow with his own, and Rodney nudged him back, smiling to himself.

He'd been prepared for a lecture about Radek and Ronon, but Sheppard remained silent. Rodney was happy to slouch against the railing, feeling Sheppard next to him, both of them safe for a moment, and happy to breathe the sweet ocean air. The only sounds were the whisper of the breeze and an occasional cry from a seabird. He gradually relaxed; no scolding today, he decided. And he _would_ leave them alone. Radek was happier, and Ronon less forbidding. Whatever system of symbols they used to communicate, it clearly worked for them. As well as the cranky silence between Sheppard and Rodney worked, he thought, and discovered that he was smiling to himself. Their cranky silence, he decided, was their private language.

Maybe he was a better linguist than he knew, Rodney thought, turning to face Sheppard, studying his profile. Sheppard's mouth curled in a slight smile and the corner of his eye crinkled. Rodney discovered he didn't need to ask why.

**Author's Note:**

> Section titles from Wislawa Szymborska's poem [Utopia](http://www.mirabile-dictu.slashcity.net/SGA/Utopia.html)
> 
> Thanks to an anonymous source for assistance with the vocative.


End file.
